


On His Tongue

by twinkstimulator



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27945383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkstimulator/pseuds/twinkstimulator
Summary: Dante finds himself chasing it. He could feel himself growing impossibly larger inside you, stretching the hot slickness of your insides even still. He’s growling into the crook of your neck, a little too guttural to be human. You’re quaking around him, squirming on his cock, trying to take more of him in. Heaving with a cry stuck in your throat that's too sweet to be pain. Pulling him closer as if there was still any space between your bodies, and that the two of you weren’t already holding onto each other so tightly.My contribution to the SSSZine.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 133





	On His Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> i finally got the go ahead to post my fic for the ssszine! i really want to thank tehrevving, possumon, copperwasp and everyone in the zine discord server for helping me get this fic done
> 
> hope you like it!

Staring down at the pools of water slowly running clear on the shower floor, Dante wonders, as you rub soothing circles into his skin, why he feels like he’s drowning.

Your soft hands glide over his body, slippery with soap. You move gently across his back, his chest, down his legs and up his neck - blanketing him in a lather of white suds that smell vaguely of flowers. As hot water washes them away, a chill skitters down his spine.

Every shuddering breath is thick with steam and the smell of soap, undercut by that cocktail of gunpowder and ash that seems to stick to him like a shitty cologne. He wonders how you can stand being so close to him.

“Keep your eyes shut for me, okay?” You say, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Don’t want this getting in your eyes now.”

He remembers, almost too late, that he should school his face; you shouldn’t see how weak he really is. It takes him a second to realise that you’re still waiting for his response.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies lightly, as he scrunches his eyes comically tight. His mouth draws into a wry smile when he hears you laugh. The sound of it reverberates in layers and layers in the tiny stall, and the way your body shakes with laughter draws a chuckle out of him too. He settles his hands around your waist, holding on tight; he hopes you don’t feel them trembling.

The roaring in his head gets louder, and the white noise and steady drum of hot water against his skin only drags him in deeper. He needs to pull himself back up before it’s too late, he can’t let himself get too hopeful. But it’s getting harder and harder to keep himself afloat when it comes to you.

He wonders if you can feel it through his skin, the words that he wants to say but can’t bring himself to. The things he wishes he could say without wincing at how unfamiliar it feels to form the words with his own lips, how _off_ it sounds to hear in _his_ voice.

Something like this isn’t meant for someone like him. Having someone to come back to, someone who would carefully wash the demon guts from his hair and hold him in a too tight embrace, is rattling. He just wants to enjoy your touch, get lost in it, without the guilt he tastes in the back of his mouth everytime you kiss him.

Your hands feel like fire on his scalp; he shudders from every scratch, every tug on his hair, every knead of practiced fingers - he’s keyed up, practically _thrumming_ where he stands. It’s just a shower but, this is different, _charged_ in a way. He knows why, but he almost wishes he didn’t.

A low groan escapes him, and even with his eyes shut he can feel the way you shiver. His lip quirks.

_This_ feeling he knows too well. The rush of heat that settles in his core, pooling in his belly, hardening his cock. His heart is racing for a different reason now. The familiarity is a comfort.

It’s easy enough to drown out his anxiety when he’s between your legs. Having you writhe in his hands, so _hot_ and perfect around him as you scream his name. It’s what happens afterward that trips him up; when he’s in _your_ hands, and you’re running your fingers through his hair, kissing gentle words onto his skin. _Staying_.

He’s not stupid enough to think that you actually care that deeply about him. You just stick around cause he makes you feel good like no one else, and that’s fine as far as he’s concerned. He’d made his peace with that a long time ago.

But sometimes he’d catch a certain look in your eyes. The way you stare at him when you think he’s not looking. There’s warmth there, and it makes his heart hurt like nothing else. It sends his mind to dangerous places.

The nights he’d spend alone, with the lights off and the jukebox quiet as he sits at his desk, staring blearily into the neon lights of the ‘Devil May Cry’ sign until the words are practically burned onto his retinas, seem so far away now. He can’t even imagine going back to that now. He can’t even imagine what tomorrow with you might be like either.

‘But _this_ -’ he thinks, noting the subtle tremble in your fingers, the slightest uptick in your heartbeat, hears the roar of your blood shift and rush in different directions. _‘-at least this_ is familiar.’

_This_ , he could handle.

Your fingers are still tangled in his hair - it’s getting a little long, he thinks - when they settle to a stop by the base of his neck, resting there. Dante quirks a brow, peeping at you. He can feel a glob of foam sitting just above his right eye. It smells like peppermint.

“I’m pretty sure this isn't a leave-in, babe.”

You fix him a look that makes his dick twitch before you turn around to reach for the shower head. His eyes drop to your ass to compensate.

He pads forward, crowding you to his chest in the cramped shower stall, pressing his hardening length against your backside. You shudder and your hands stop in their tracks, hovering in the air. Angling the jet of water to wash off the bubbles in his hair, Dante wraps a hand around your waist, keeping you from pulling away as he scrubs off the shampoo.

“Dante-”

“Yeah, baby?” He tests, feigning nonchalance.

Keeping one hand resting on your soft belly, he starts to rock slowly, slotting his cock against your ass. A moan slips past your lips and you melt back against him, covering his hand with one of yours. He tries to ignore the insistent ache of wanting to thread your fingers together.

“What are you doing?” You tease. His mind blanks. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know either.

You slot your fingers between the gaps in his, pressing your back to his chest. Your heartbeat rings in his head, just behind his eyes. His heart hurts. He wonders if all the heat and the steam are starting to get to him.

“-m just trying to get scrubbed up,” Dante clears his throat; does it again, harder. He tries not to think too much into it. “I don’t know ‘bout you though, you seem to be enjoying yourself down there.”

“Maybe a little bit,” you trail off a little, before grinding down on his cock.

“ _Ah fuck-_ ”

His grip on you tightens, eyes fixating on the way his length slides against your ass. You barely envelop the thick of him, the tip of his cock just barely peeks out by your lower back, beading pre-cum already; but you feel so soft, _so damn good_ \- he isn’t even inside you yet and he’s already scrambling to pull himself together.

You’re standing on your tiptoes now, bracing yourself against the wall, reaching a hand back to grab hold onto the meat of his thigh, grinding on him wildly enough that he has to grab you with both hands.

“You just can’t help being a tease, can you?” It comes out a little rougher than it should. Even with your back to him, he could practically see the smirk on your lips just from the sound of your laugh and in how deep you dig your nails into his ass cheek in response.

You meet his heated stare with one of your own. He sees it in your eyes, in your bitten lips - you know what you’re doing to him.

“Maybe you shouldn’t start what you can’t finish, _legendary devil hunter_.”

His eyes narrow. The fire in his belly stirs. He rears back, “Who said I wasn’t gonna finish it?”

You lick your lips, and the slightest glimpse of your pink tongue makes his cock jump.

_This_ was easy. Familiar. Debatably safe, but he’s never been the type to deny himself a good time. All he had to worry about was how many times he could make you cum before he was spent.

It’s shallow, he’ll admit. But a good enough lay is just that: fast and dirty; immediate gratification that didn’t have any extra baggage to go with it - didn’t even need names sometimes. He never entertains all the extra shit that comes with getting attached.

Not until now, not until they’ve snuck up on him.

He doesn’t know why you’ve stayed after all this time, but he’s grateful. He’s going to show you he’s grateful, take everything from you that he might be owed. You gave him permission to be so hungry.

The little squeeze tube of lube he keeps next to the soap is almost empty, practically paper-thin and wrung out from use. It takes more than a couple of tries for it to start oozing out onto his hand, and he has to pull away from you cause this is a two-handed kind of problem.

But you’re panting, impatient and needy, and the look you give him over your shoulder nearly makes him launch the thing across the fucking bathroom. He can’t get back on you fast enough. He’s _this_ close to getting himself off between your thighs.

Your voice breaks on a cry as he pushes in, and Dante has to force himself to breathe.

So _hot_. Always so _fucking tight_. You’re quivering, shifting uneven on your legs, trying to cant your hips back to meet him halfway. He tries to stretch you out, to fit more of him inside, and your walls spasm wet around him with every pull.

Staccato gasps fill the tiny stall, flooding out the dull hum of the running shower, and Dante can’t think of anything other than how he can feel each and every tremor racking your body pulsate around his fingers. He sets the flat of his tongue against your throat, sucking over your racing pulse, groans when he feels you squeeze around him in response. He can’t bring himself to slow down, to let you catch a breath - to let _himself_ catch a breath - he won’t know what will happen if he did.

_This isn’t enough_ , he thinks, clenching his fist cruelly on the head of his cock. _This isn’t enough._

He couldn’t resist you even if he tried. You whine as he pulls his fingers away, watching as the spray of the shower washes the lube from them. He’s desperate, aching - a primal thirst, but more than that.

There’s an emptiness inside of him, it’s always been there he thinks. He didn’t notice it until recently, or maybe it took him meeting you to realise that it was there in the first place. It goes away when he finds you waiting for him after he gets back from a job, when he holds you close at night, when he wakes up to you in the mornings.

You say his name differently than anyone he’s ever been with, than anyone ever has. There’s something in it, a lilt, a tremor to your words as you cry out his name. It fills that void a little bit.

He lines himself up, trying to be cocky. “You ready for me, baby?”

You sigh his name - begging, desperate - and it soothes that ache inside of him, just for a moment.

It’s a hot, _tight_ slide in. You teeter on your tiptoes, keening through your teeth with every inch. Clawing at the wall - clawing at _him_ , like you’re trying to draw blood; like you want to tear into him, dirty your hands with him, paint yourself with him until you can’t scrub him off.

Dante scrapes his teeth over the crook of your neck, stays there when he feels your thundering heartbeat, your blood roaring on his tongue.

It makes his cock surge.

When he moves, it’s punishing, ceaseless. He’s being rough, he knows that, but the sounds you’re making as he fucks you open has him struggling to even pull himself together. It’s like he’s wrecking you, reshaping you and fucking you into something only for him. _Only for him_. A sick sort of satisfaction settles in his stomach at the thought.

He wants to sink his teeth into your chest, devour you in your entirety. He'll ruin your heart for anyone else and keep you all to himself if you let him. He'll keep you close enough to quell the pangs in his stomach and nothing more. He’s greedy when it comes to you, he can admit that much.

You’ve become as much a part of him as he is a part of you. He wants you too much and it hurts.

“ _Fuck_ -” You whine through your teeth when he tweaks your nipples between his fingers. He cups you in his hand, rubs how he knows you like, and the way you squirm against him feels _so fucking good_ on his cock.

“ _Dante_ -” Just _hearing_ you moan his name nearly makes him cum. “F-fuck, Dante! _I-I-_ ”

A desperate moan slips out between your lips. He commits it to memory just in case.

This feels too hot, too much - too _real_ for him to avoid. You’re clutching onto him, whimpering as you dig your nails into his arm. Even being pressed up so close together like this isn’t enough to sate the hunger that’s rending him to pieces.

_This still isn’t enough. Why isn’t this enough?_

Dante finds himself chasing it. He could feel himself growing impossibly larger inside you, stretching the hot slickness of your insides even still. He’s growling into the crook of your neck, a little too guttural to be human. You’re quaking around him, squirming on his cock, trying to take more of him in. Heaving with a cry stuck in your throat that's too sweet to be pain. Pulling him closer as if there was still any space between your bodies, and that the two of you weren’t already holding onto each other so tightly.

You reach up, carding your fingers gently through his damp hair before grabbing at the base of his skull, and dragging him down to meet your lips.

Despite everything he shouldn’t be, and despite all that he is, the kiss is soft and laced with something that he can’t find a name for.

Even here, like this, your lips touch his with a mercy he isn’t used to. It hurts, beyond anything he’s ever felt.

He sighs into you like he’s feeding you his every breath. _What do you see in him? What do you see that makes you look at him the way you do? Why do you choose to stay?_

You shudder as your release washes over you in waves, and your fevered whines taste like honey on his tongue. Dante spills himself deep inside you not long after, groaning at you clenching around him instinctively, not wanting to pull away just yet.

The words he wants to say weigh down his tongue, making a home in the back of his throat. He feels the burn of it now as it tries to mercilessly crawl up and out from between his teeth; too big and too hot and too awkward in his mouth to get it to sit right and land at least somewhat naturally.

_‘I love you,’_ he wants to say. _‘But you deserve so much better than me.’_

Dante mouths the first three words quietly into the hollow of your collarbone, kisses his intentions onto your skin, catching beads of slowly cooling water on his tongue. It’s not enough, but it’s all he can do for now. It’s what he can manage.

He holds the taste of you on his lips and pulls you closer, hoping that maybe one day he could bring himself to say it.

For now, those words will stay unvoiced and unheard, waiting on his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> long time no see :)
> 
> this was my attempt at writing something emotional lmao
> 
> getting this down was hard as hell cause it hit a little too close at some parts but we got there in the enddddddd
> 
> but yeah! thank you to everybody who snagged a copy of the [SSSZine](https://ssszine.tumblr.com/) and for helping us donate to RAINN  
> the store should be re-opening soon to sell off any leftover merch so if you wanted that Dante titty mouse pad after this then keep your eyes peeled for the date yall


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